


Blame and Brandish

by SilverLynxx



Category: Rush (2013)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gift!Fic, M/M, Profanity, brutal butchering of facts and reality of which I regret nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 22:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2246379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverLynxx/pseuds/SilverLynxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"His laurels are thrown violently to the floor as the blond snarls furiously, appearing to be only minutely aware of his audience until he jerks his head up and spots Niki, and his face seems to contort in a new wave of rage that Niki doesn’t understand."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame and Brandish

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday gift for **wsjessiel** on Tumblr :)
> 
> So I am 98.76% sure that while watching some documentary about these arseholes, during the Brand’s Hatch Race the narrator said James’ win was something like an additional birthday celebration or whatever, so I initially got this idea. After double checking, turns out the Brand’s Hatch 1976 race and James’ birthday are over a bloody month apart, so I took a lot of artistic liberties. **I.E.** I butchered both facts and reality to suit my whims.

Formula 1 is an exhilarating and intense sport, and Niki had seen enough Grand Prix races to know that the adrenaline is infectious. Even after the results are read with the winners on their podium and their trophies received, the crowds always remain and the commotion carries on for hours. In fact, as Niki pulls his cap lower and tries to steal through the sea of bodies as quickly as possible, he’s sure the crowd is even more boisterous than usual. Although it was no surprise, really.

James had ploughed home first with Niki barely clinging onto second, and the thunderous British cheers had yet to stop ringing in his ears. But despite his own admiral placement he’d been quick to slink off his podium spot to talk with his mechanics. He was positive the same gearbox fault that had retired Regazzoni half way through had been the cause of his own trouble in the last neck of the race, and it was a problem he wanted rectified immediately.

But car faults aside, Niki zeroes in on the McLaren garage in his search for James. He was not going to brood over circumstances out of his control, and in the face of his technical trouble the Brit had driven a good race.

“James?” The Austrian calls as he steps into the garage, but he’s greeted instead by the hard stares of Caldwell and Mayer standing by a worktable, and some lingering mechanics shuffling around the blood red McLaren.

“I would leave, quickly,” Mayer advises darkly, but Niki has no time to process the unusual hostility before the door on the far side of the garage is kicked open and James storms in. His laurels are thrown violently to the floor as the blond snarls furiously, appearing to be only minutely aware of his audience until he jerks his head up and spots Niki, and his face seems to contort in a new wave of rage that Niki doesn’t understand.

“What are you doing here, you fucking bastard, come to gloat!?”

“Wa-“

“You just can’t help yourself can you, you prick? Can’t bloody bear the idea of losing so you go running to your team of fucking spineless cheats, maybe give _Montezemolo_ a bit of incentive, and try to ruin everything with your goddamn politics!” James roars at him as he storms closer. Niki resists the temptation to step back, but tenses at the possibility that the Brit may actually take a swing at him.

“James, I don’t know what you’re on about!” he yells over James’ bellows, stealing a glance at the trophy on the worktop and wondering what could have possibly happened between the rostrum and now to enrage the Brit to this extent.

“You’re a fucking liar, Lauda!” James snaps, catching Niki’s look at the trophy. “So you’ve just come to take what’s ‘rightfully yours’ have you?” he scoffs, and with a bitter sneer snatches the gold cup and shoves it at his rival.

Niki fumbles slightly at the sudden weight in his arms, and looks at James’ wide eyed, fury only just tempered by his utter confusion. “Well? You got what you came for, fuck off you rat-faced bastard.”

The contempt in James’ last remark almost convinces Niki to turn around and leave, but instead he straightens up, adjusts the cup in his grip, and says calmly. “I came to wish you a happy birthday.”

“What?” James barks.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’ve been talking about, James, I came here to congratulate you on your win and wish you a happy birthday!”

James laughed drily, though it was half-hearted and he seemed to deflate before Niki’s eyes, “It doesn’t feel like a happy birthday anymore”. The garage falls into silence, and Niki feels the weight of everyone’s stare before Mayer and Caldwell share a questioning look. In front of him, James’ brow creases with uncertainty.

“They took away my win…” James says quietly, almost as if he’s unsure. Niki is too.

“What?”

“I was disqualified, Ferrari protested because I used the service road before the restart. You won.”

Niki’s mouth falls open, the unexpected news hitting him with sudden conflicting emotions. He’d won; the trophy he was holding was rightfully his. But then the rest registers, and James’ unfounded rage towards him suddenly makes sense.

“I didn’t know. No one said anything…”

James nods, accepting Niki’s word now that he’d calmed down somewhat. He was still angry, still upset, but he understood Niki hadn’t played a hand in the deception.

“I’m sorry,” the Brit mutters, and hesitantly accepts the cup back when the younger man offers it to him. Niki had many, he didn’t need this one.

Niki pauses for a moment before asking, “Would you like to get dinner?”

“As a date?” the blond asks with a tiny hint of his usual mischievous smirk.

“For your birthday,” he corrects.

James frowns, looking down at the trophy he’s fidgeting with before looking back up at Niki and staring him boldly in the eye.

“A date would make me feel better.”

Niki huffs, a small smile twitching on his lips at the Brit’s sheer audacity.

“Ok. A date,” he relents, and James grins beatifically. “Happy Birthday,” Niki adds as they leave the garage, shoulders bumping fondly as Caldwell, Mayer, and the remaining mechanics stare blankly after them.


End file.
